


Private Universe Snapshots

by AuroraNova



Series: Private Universe [4]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: AU, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: Just what it says on the tin: a series of short scenes bridging the gap between the third and fifth Private Universe stories.Julian and Garak support each other through the Dominion War.





	1. Trust, but Verify

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very different installment than the rest of the Private Universe series. Instead of an overarching story, it's a collection of short scenes, giving little glimpses of Julian and Garak between "Points of No Return" and the fifth and final tale (title pending). 
> 
> We start just after "Call to Arms."

“How was your meeting with Captain Sisko?” asked Garak when Julian returned to their quarters on the _Defiant_.

Everyone had to double up, and Jadzia, who’d been in charge of the assignments, reasoned, “Who else is going to want to bunk with Garak?” It was admittedly a short list, but he suspected she was also indulging them.

Not that they would risk the _malon anbar_ under these circumstances. Garak had programs in place on the station – wiped before they left, of course – to cover up their disappearances from the known universe. He couldn’t set the programs to run on the _Defiant_ ’s computer without setting up red flags.

Besides, Julian might be urgently needed at any time. The moments it took to return to their primary universe and get dressed could mean the difference between life and death, so he wasn’t about to take the risk.

“Fine,” he said.

“It was about me, wasn’t it?” asked Garak.

He was right, but Julian wasn’t going to give in that easily. “You flatter yourself.”

“No. At least some of your admirals must possess the common sense to be wary of my assistance.”

“If you’ve taken to bugging the _Defiant_ , they’ll be a lot warier.”

“I have not,” said Garak with faux offense. “This is all reasonable conjecture.”

Aha, Julian saw what was going on here. “You want to know what I told the captain.”

“It will impact my prospects of being taken seriously, and thus contributing to the war effort.”

“It’s more than that. You’re dying to know how much I trust you.”

“Now you are the one flattering yourself.”

No, he wasn’t, and Julian enjoyed this turning of the tables. “It’s a peculiar idiom, isn’t it? Dying to know something is quite extreme, if you take it literally.”

“You have many peculiar idioms, but I am not so easily distracted. You need to work on your conversational evasiveness if you expect any success.”

“I don’t know, this seems to be working rather well.”

“It’s a blatant attempt to avoid answering my entirely reasonable question. How can my knowledge help the war if Starfleet insists on confirming it from other sources? I don’t believe they have any other Cardassian sources, so that will pose a significant problem.”

He was overdoing it just a trifle. “Garak, have you ever heard the phrase ‘the lady doth protest too much?’”

“Let me guess: Shakespeare.”

“ _Hamlet_ ,” said Julian with a nod. “We haven’t discussed that one, even though I think you’d like it.” Garak would only read Shakespeare so often, and he’d flatly refused to read any more of the Bard’s comedies. Julian, in return, had sworn off the (mind-numbing) historical allegories of Lodat, and that had been enough to keep Garak from banning any more human authors from his tablet.

“You thought I’d like _Julius Caesar_ and _King Lear_ , so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m hesitant to rely on your ideas of what Shakespeare I’ll appreciate.”

“You did like _King Lear_ ,” said Julian. “You just don’t want to admit it. It’s your kind of book: one person’s bad choices bring ruination to an entire kingdom, and there’s no happy ending in sight.”

Garak huffed, put out that Julian had been able to see through his fake dislike. “If Lear was so easily fooled by a single declaration of love against all other experiences, he could not have successfully ruled for any length of time.”

“You say that, but we both know it’s similar to the situation with Prince Hantron in _The Glory of Sta’Ron._ ” Which, as Cardassian literature went, was one of the better books Julian had read.

“That comparison is downright insulting,” said Garak, and he was really reaching if that was the best he could do. Julian raised an eyebrow, and Garak tried again. “Hantron is heavily medicated on his deathbed.”

“I think you can reasonably argue for age-related mental decline in King Lear. Regan says, ‘Tis the infirmity of his age: yet he hath ever but slenderly known himself.’”

When they’d discussed the play the first time, Julian hadn’t been able to offer quotes so easily. There was much to be said in favor of Garak knowing about the enhancements. It made their literary debates more fun when Julian didn’t have to hold himself back from throwing out any number of verbatim quotes.

“Don’t think I’m unaware you’re attempting to draw me away from the point of this conversation,” said Garak, which was practically a concession to liking _King Lear._

“I thought the point of this conversation was a friendly way to pass the time until bed.” Or until the red alert went off, or he had to rush to the infirmary. Whichever came first.

Julian refused to answer the question for a solid hour and a half. Garak gave up and went back to his own reading in a bit of a snit over the whole thing, though most of that was probably an act.

He’d sized the situation up exactly. Sisko, who had his own report to give Command, had asked for Julian’s take on Garak’s assistance. Jadzia probably got the same question, but they all knew if Garak allowed anyone glimpses of his true self, it was Julian. Sisko had no idea just how much Julian knew, of course, and Julian wouldn’t explain how he suspected Garak’s worst sins had been committed trying to earn his father’s love, which didn’t excuse them, but cast them in a different light. No, that information wasn’t Julian’s to share.

As he’d told the captain, Garak had a long history of doing the wrong things for the right reasons. However heinous his past deeds, he was a patriot foremost, driven by a love of Cardassia none of them would ever understand. This time, Julian thought he was doing the right thing for the right reason.

Of course, with Garak, it never paid to be completely certain.

When they’d gotten into their beds, just before he turned off the lights, Julian remembered either of them could die at any moment. Not that he could entirely forget, exactly, but he could kind of… push the harsh reality to the back of his mind for a few hours. Regrets were inevitable now, but this silly thing, answering Garak’s real curiosity, didn’t have to be one of them. He said, “I told Captain Sisko I believe you sincerely think that helping the Federation beat the Dominion is in Cardassia’s best interest, and you always do what’s in Cardassia’s best interest.”

Garak looked almost disappointed.

“I also told him I’d prefer not to stake my career on the assessment.” The captain had understood this perfectly and mentioned an intention to say something similar in his own response to Command.

At that, Garak smiled. He was genuinely pleased with Julian’s stipulation. “My dear, you have learned very well.”


	2. Cassandra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in what is by now a completely unsurprising development, this story has also grown beyond the original intent. I keep adding more snapshots. Fair warning - this one's pretty angsty, which is appropriate as it's set after "Sacrifice of Angels."

“You might’ve had a point,” said Julian, sitting on Garak’s couch the third night back on the station after the Federation retook Deep Space Nine. Before Garak could ask which point he meant, he went on, “Not that I agree with your methods, mind you, because I’m still firmly anti-genocide.”

Ah. That point.

“But it’s possible that sacrificing our lives would’ve saved millions more.”

“I’m perfectly aware,” said Garak. It had been his reasoning in the first place, and truth be told, he still resented that Worf had stopped him, even as he respected the commander’s later actions in Internment Camp 371.

Julian frowned. “And I hate that I even think this.”

“Because it entailed your own death?”

“Because it entailed a plan to kill an entire race.”

“I doubt the Dominion would extend you the same moral agony.” In fact, he was certain they wouldn’t.

“I know, I know. Wolves and sheep, fighting for survival, et cetera.” Julian looked out Garak’s window, as though the answers could be found somewhere in the stars. “Is it still victory if in the course of winning, we give up the values we hold dear?”

Garak didn’t know why this was even a question. “Yes.”

“I’m not so sure there are any innocents in the Dominion. The Founders have a communal mind in the Great Link. The Vorta are cloned and the Jem’Hadar are bred. Am I just making excuses?”

Excuses for what? Thinking his own people were more important than an enemy? Garak saw no need to make apologies for such an instinct. Julian’s closest friends had all survived; he was sorry Ziyal was dead, of course, and he was grieved that his subordinate, Dr. Engel, had been on a ship which was destroyed with all hands, but it wasn’t as though O’Brien or Dax had perished. Still, Federation losses were heavy and the war was not over.

“It hardly matters,” Garak said. “The possible existence of innocent individuals in the Dominion, which I do not think likely, by the way, has no bearing on the war. As I have always known,” he said, a touch bitterly.

Julian shook his head and curled his feet under himself. “You’re a regular Cassandra.”

He tried to come up with some significance attached to the name and yielded nothing, so he said, “I don’t think a human female name would suit me at all.”

“In one of our mythologies, Cassandra was blessed with the gift of prophecy and cursed to never be believed.”

What a peculiar tale. Admittedly, he could see the relevance to his own life, and that stung. “Your mythologies are puzzling. Wouldn’t people eventually have realized her predictions always came true?”

“It was a curse. They don’t obey logic.”

“I’ve long since given up attempting to make logical sense of human folklore,” he said, but Julian didn’t rise to the obvious bait.

Instead he looked out the window again and said, “‘They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.’”

Morbid human war poetry again. Garak was growing quite tired of it.

“‘At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them.’”

Garak thought of Ziyal – sweet, lovely Ziyal, whose smile would never delight him again - and he couldn’t take this human nonsense another second. “Perhaps dying young is glorious to humans, but we Cardassians consider age an honor,” he snapped.

“It’s supposed to be comforting, actually, that the honored dead will live on in memory. ‘As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, moving in marches on the heavenly plain; as the stars that are starry in our time of darkness, to the end, to the end, they remain.’”

Garak was not comforted. Normally he would’ve pointed out the absolute inanity of the phrase ‘stars that are starry,’ but this night he couldn’t be bothered. “Excuse me if I take no solace in that, considering how few people cared enough about Ziyal to remember her. She won’t be memorialized like your Starfleet officers.” Nor in any Cardassian fashion either. Ziyal would disappear, almost as though she’d never lived.

He decided he’d liked Julian’s taste in literature better when it was absurdly optimistic, something which he had never imagined himself thinking.

“I’m sorry,” said Julian, abashed. “I’m not very good at this.”

Whatever he was referring to – pessimism, attempts at comfort, reconciling himself to the reality of war – he was correct. “No. You’re not.”

He was, however, entirely too good at quoting depressing poetry from previous Earth wars. Garak usually enjoyed that Julian’s memory allowed for this level of recall, as it made literary debates more exciting, but this he could have done without.

Blessedly, Julian stopped himself from asking how he could help. It was clearly on the tip of his tongue, as the human expression went, but he didn’t say the words. He asked something slightly more acceptable. “Is there anything you want to do for her?”

There was nothing he _could_ do, not even offer a traditional poem over her grave. Dukat had taken her body, intending to bury Ziyal next to her mother, which Garak supposed was fitting even though he knew Kira objected on the principle that it was Dukat’s idea. She’d wanted to bury Ziyal on Bajor.

“I highly doubt the Bajoran government will allow me to take the Orb of Time.” He thought for a moment of Ziyal, and all the years stolen from her. “Do you know, Damar was only doing his duty.” And that, perhaps, was a large part of the problem for reasons Garak was disinclined to examine closely.

Julian said in his drawling Cardassi, “ _Sropa’kadu mes_.” He meant _sropa’kkadu mes_ , but Garak didn’t bother to correct the pronunciation, as doing so would’ve cheapened the offer.

It was an ancient statement of solidarity in the face of death, one which did not translate into Standard well. The Universal Translator produced ‘you may rage with me,’ a very inadequate phrase. It meant Julian offered himself as a safe outlet for Garak’s grief and anger (because Cardassians rarely had the former without the latter) and wouldn’t hold anything Garak said against him - no small thing for the average human, but then, nothing about Julian was average.

It would accomplish nothing to accept. Garak was still moved by the offer, and he inclined his head in gratitude. “I do not want to disrespect Ziyal’s choice to involve herself. She might have remained safely with Major Kira’s friends, or simply done nothing, but she chose to act.”

Whatever response Julian was going to offer was cut off by the door chiming. That was notable, because Julian was the only person who ever came to Garak’s quarters.

“Who is it?” Garak inquired.

A pause. The visitor obviously wasn’t used to being asked to identify themselves. “Kira.”

“Open door.” He could hardly imagine what the major would want with him, but he didn’t think she was likely to attack him in his quarters, either.

Kira started what was obviously a rehearsed speech. “Tomorrow morning…” she noticed Julian, and her eyes widened.

Julian, obviously comfortable on the couch, with the outer layers of his uniform draped carelessly over a chair, looked far more at ease in Garak’s quarters than Kira had ever guessed, Garak could plainly see. Then there was the matter of the environmental settings, which were turned down to lower temperature and humidity than Cardassian standard for human comfort. The real tell, though, was Julian’s Starfleet issue boots left at the door. It was a sign of certain intimacy among Cardassians to remove one’s shoes in another’s residence, and Kira knew it.

“Doctor Bashir,” she said. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She did not ask if he was aware of the significance of leaving his footwear by the door, which of course he was.

“No,” Julian said. He offered nothing further; no explanation, no concern over being discovered by the major whatsoever. Truly, the man had matured a great deal in the past five years.

Kira looked at his boots for a moment before returning her attention to Garak. “Tomorrow morning at 0900 we’re having Ziyal’s memorial in the temple. I think she’d have liked it if you came.”

Now he was just as shocked as she’d been a moment ago. “To the Bajoran temple? I’m not sure that’s wise.” It seemed like the sort of action which might raise a lot of ire he couldn’t afford, in fact.

“It will be closed for the ceremony. And I’m not asking for you. I’m asking for her.”

In that case, Garak would quietly abide Bajoran mysticism, in which Ziyal had found some peace, to honor her memory. Besides, he understood what Kira hadn’t said: that he would be her guest, for Ziyal’s sake, and she would not permit anyone to cause trouble over him. He still ran the risk of angering the station’s Bajoran population, but in this case, he was willing to take that chance. “Then I accept. For her.”

Kira nodded. “Don’t wear blue.”

He’d never understood that peculiar Bajoran tradition. No blue was permitted at a funeral or memorial service, a relic of some ancient superstition no doubt related to their Prophets. He wasn’t about to ask the reasoning, so he simply said, “I won’t.”

“And don’t arrive more than six minutes early,” she said, before giving Julian another glance (a difficult one to read, even for Garak) and walking out the door.

“It’s good that you’re going,” said Julian.

“I hope it’s not a terrible mistake.”

“You cared about her, and she you. It’s fitting.”

It was more achievable than the Orb of Time, anyway.

“What happened to this Cassandra you mentioned?” he asked, rather curious about a figure to whom Julian saw fit to draw parallels with Garak’s life.

“Nothing good.”

“Come now, you must know more details.”

Julian’s eyes flashed discomfort. “Her family had her locked away as a mad woman, she was brutally raped in a temple, then taken captive and made a king’s concubine, only to be murdered by the king’s wife and the wife’s lover.”

Garak was astonished that human culture had such a tale and this was the first he’d heard of it. There was certainly enough depressing Terran literature – Julian’s war poetry was ample evidence – but this Cassandra was something else. Throw in a cautionary morale about knowing when not to share your information, and it could almost be Cardassian.

“You asked,” said Julian. “By now, most people don’t remember that. They just know a Cassandra is someone whose accurate predictions aren’t believed.”

“That much applies to me,” agreed Garak, and they sat in silence for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Julian quotes is "For the Fallen" by Laurence Binyon.


	3. Shadows in Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short snapshot takes place during "In the Pale Moonlight."

Garak hadn’t realized just how steeply optolythic data rods had risen in value of late. At the current pace, he’d be able to buy himself a ship within the year, if he lived that long, which he was strongly beginning to doubt he would.

Instead, he was going to buy a chance to defeat the Dominion.

The rod was the most valuable of his assets, of which he had precious few remaining. Even his contacts on Cardassia, assets of a type, were all dead (except Mila, but if he dared send her a message she too would be dead within hours). It was foolish of him to part with the rod when Starfleet would pay any cost to acquire one from another source.

If the price had been anything else, he would have kept his optolythic rod safely hidden away. A wise man kept many forms of insurance and easily transportable assets, and did not give either up unless he had to. Unfortunately, the price was biomimetic gel, and Garak was not inclined to let Starfleet pay it.

Biomimetic gel would involve Julian in this scheme. That was undesirable for two reasons. First, if he was outraged enough at being forced to turn over a large quantity of biomimetic gel, Julian would surely investigate, or at the very least complain to every level of Starfleet Medical. He could bring the scheme to light and make it all for naught by even unintentionally alerting the wrong people.

If the plot was only what Sisko thought it was and Starfleet Command had approved, that would not have been so terrible. Garak had no doubt the Dominion did intend to conquer the Romulans after they defeated the Federation-Klingon alliance, so this didn’t even really count as lying.

Julian would not condone the forgery, but he could be persuaded to accept it. Murder, on the other hand, Garak was not so certain his _anbaras_ would leave be, and Julian was certainly intelligent enough to put the pieces together once Vreenak’s upcoming death brought the Romulans into the war. There was a strong chance Julian would connect the handover of such a large quantity of gel to a plot by Sisko, who was not in the habit of issuing morally suspect orders, and thereafter the Romulans’ serendipitous entrance into the war.

If the wrong people learned the truth, the Romulans might join the Dominion, sealing the entire quadrant’s fate of subservience to the Founders. No, that would not do at all.

On a more personal level, Garak did not wish to involve him because it had not been so very long ago that Julian was not himself. It had all started with the internment camp, though Garak wasn’t certain which of the Federation’s diagnoses applied. Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Delayed Traumatic Shock – the station abounded with these afflictions at present, as anyone with ears had heard. He’d never asked Julian directly, though he was quite sure one of the conditions applied.

In any event, Julian’s disposition had improved of late. He seemed to be taking more pleasure from life, and the Bajoran vedek, of all people, proved to be of help to him.

Two hundred liters of biomimetic gel was a great deal. Less than half of that could be used in biogenic weapons to destroy all life in an entire system, and if such an attack came, Julian would find a way to blame himself (for obeying a direct order, of all things; humans were peculiar like that). He would say he could have prevented the destruction if he’d fought harder or something equally ridiculous, and then his emotional state would deteriorate again.

Garak was primarily concerned with the success of his mission. He once again undertook the necessary actions others found too distasteful, setting aside all personal feelings to achieve his goal by whatever means required. Truly he was his father’s son. Still, he would be lying to himself if he said that Julian’s wellbeing did not also factor into his decision, and he endeavored never to lie to himself.

He took some comfort in the fact that sentiment was only a secondary motivation. He was really more concerned with Julian’s righteous indignation ruining everything, but if preventing that also preserved Julian’s mental health, such was an acceptable subsidiary consideration.

He would tell Sisko he had produced a second minor miracle and found a seller willing to part with an optolythic data rod for a less troublesome price. A dozen Tarkalean moon gems, perhaps. No, he’d heard the newest generation of Federation replicators were expected to be able to produce those, greatly reducing their value. A few sets of tetra-encrypted Starfleet data chips, the kind which could only communicate with their designated counterpart, would be preferable. And a bit of latinum besides, lest the deal look too favorable.

It was still not a good trade for Garak, really, but if it ensured the success of his mission, he was willing to make that sacrifice.

And Julian would never have to know.


	4. Race the Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we come to "Tears of the Prophets."

The entire station knew in short order that Commander Dax was dead. Unequivocally so, beyond Starfleet’s remarkable ability to cheat.

This grieved Garak, who’d grown passingly fond of the science officer in his own way. She was always an interesting customer, and he appreciated that she, unlike the rest of Julian’s friends, accepted their involvement.

His _anbaras_ ’s grief was a more pressing concern. Garak did not know with certainty what, exactly, was expected of him in this situation (unfortunately, the only person he might have asked was the one who’d just died), but he felt confident that leaving Julian alone would be considered ungenerous at best and cruel at worst. Garak’s ability to be both would surprise no one, but when it came to Julian, he endeavored never to be cruel. He therefore instructed the computer to alert him as soon as Dr. Bashir was alone in his quarters, which in due course it did.

On the way, he learned from snippets of conversation that Dukat and some evil entity were involved. He added Dax’s death to his list of complaints against Dukat.

“Come in,” said Julian.

The conversation called for human custom. “I am truly sorry.”

“So you’ve heard.” Julian wasn’t even pretending to be fine. That boded ill.

“Everyone has.”

“I was able to save the Dax symbiont. There was…” he choked up momentarily. “There was nothing I could do for Jadzia.”

Garak knew he meant it sincerely. Julian wouldn’t have hesitated to save his friend even at the expense of revealing his own secret, so the feat was simply not possible.

“If you start worrying about the next host keeping our _malon anbar_ a secret, I swear I’ll pin you to the wall.”

“I’d like to see you try,” retorted Garak, who very much would have, but Julian was in no mood for witty repartee.

He was indeed concerned, just as Julian had known he would be. The late commander had once, in a well-intentioned if not wholly successful attempt at reassurance, told him that joined Trill took the secrets of their past lives seriously. She’d been willing to die for one of Curzon’s, she’d pointed out, and then went on to reassure him she intended to live for decades to come, anyway.

How regrettable that she hadn’t been able to, and for much more than keeping their _malon anbar_ known to as few individuals as possible. Garak liked her.

“She is – was - one of my best friends and I couldn’t save her.” Julian more or less fell onto his couch, appearing numb with mourning, which Garak was poorly equipped to handle.

“I highly doubt it was a personal failing,” he said.

“It wasn’t. I know it wasn’t. Nobody could’ve saved Jadzia without significantly more advanced medical technology than anything the Federation has. That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Garak thought it ought to, and found himself at a loss. His skill set was broad, but did not include offering comfort, and he started to wonder if this had been a good idea. Still, Julian would’ve shown up for him. Had, in fact, multiple times after Ziyal’s death. He sat and reached for Julian’s hand.

“She was dying on a cellular level in front of me and I couldn’t do anything.”

“That is not true,” said Garak. “You saved the symbiont, did you not? And did she not believe its life was of paramount importance?”

“Yes,” mumbled Julian in the general direction of the floor. “It’s not the same as saving Jadzia.”

Obviously. It was still the very definition of doing something.

Garak sat in useless silence for several moments, even though he detested uselessness. Finally, he decided there was nothing to lose by offering his support in the Cardassian fashion. “ _Sropa’kkadu mes_.”

“It’s not rage right now,” said Julian quietly. “There’s something else you could do to help, though.”

Garak recognized the sparks indicated Julian was ready to move to the _malon anbar_ , and he lowered his own guard, allowing their universe to overtake them.

“I used to run,” said Julian. “When I couldn’t handle my emotions, I would run as fast as I could manage, until I couldn’t go another step, and the exhaustion always helped, at least for a time. My parents hated it, and when I learned… well, I haven’t done it since.”

“But there is no risk of discovery here. By all means, run yourself to collapse if it will make you feel better.” As coping methods for grief went, Garak assumed this was a reasonably healthy choice. Not that he knew much about the subject to begin with, much less for humans, but it seemed preferable to Quark’s stronger liquors, at the least.

“Thank you,” said Julian. “This might take a while.”

“I have nothing more important to do.” He had a codebreaking project of moderately high priority, but it could wait until later. Sleep could be postponed; Julian’s need for an outlet could not.

Julian flashed him a grateful smile before taking off at impressive speed. It did take quite a long time before he tired himself out. Garak could always see him, in the peculiar way the _malon anbar_ had of defying known physics by always keeping the doctor in sight no matter how far he ran. It was almost like a holosuite in that way.

There was an old saying on Cardassia, dating back to the days when belief in the supernatural still existed: no one can outrun a demon. In a way, that appeared to be Julian’s goal. At last, he collapsed in a heap near where Garak sat. His face was streaked with sweat and, Garak suspected, tears, and he didn’t move for three minutes. Finally he said, “I might want to do this again tomorrow.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” said Garak, and he didn’t feel quite so useless anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like putting Garak in the, let's say growth situation of trying to offer emotional support, so he'll be back there again in the next snapshot as Julian continues to mourn Jadzia.


	5. Sropa’kkadu Mes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is Julian mourning Jadzia, Part II. Takes place about two weeks after her death.

Garak was in his quarters, devoting his evening to a high-priority decoding project, when someone rang his door chime.

“Who is it?”

“Keiko O’Brien.”

He instructed the computer to open the door. He didn’t know Professor O’Brien very well, though Julian spoke highly of her, and wondered what brought her to his quarters. “Good evening,” he said.

“Good evening. I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll get right to the point: Julian is working too hard.”

“He intends to develop a treatment for the energy that killed Commander Dax.” This was how Julian coped with his friend’s death, by using it to save other lives in the future. Humans seemed to deal with death better if they assigned it meaning of some kind. Garak wasn’t sure why.

“No,” said Professor O’Brien, “he’s punishing himself for not saving her, even if he doesn’t realize that’s what he is doing.”

On the surface, her statement was nonsensical, but Garak had enough experience with humans, and with Julian Bashir in particular, to acknowledge that she might have a valid and alarming point.

“Someone needs to make him take care of himself.”

Garak was woefully unqualified for such an endeavor. He’d barely managed to be of help when Julian returned from the internment camp, and that was all centered on his physical presence. Emotional support was not Garak’s forte. He’d never had any reason to learn the skills for Cardassian norms, never mind human. From a young age he had not been intended for such a life as required the ability, though he’d apparently stumbled into something resembling one with Julian quite by accident.

“Your husband…”

“Miles tried, but he won’t push hard enough. I think you will, and I think Julian needs it now, not in three days when Miles finally gets desperate enough to ask you.”

Garak intended to protest that he was very busy with coded messages, a true lie if he’d ever offered one, but something in Professor O’Brien’s gaze stopped him. She was genuinely concerned for Julian, and Garak couldn’t sit idly by while his _anbaras_ barreled toward self-destruction.

“Jadzia wouldn’t have wanted him to work himself to collapse out of guilt,” she said.

No, he imagined not. Dax had never struck him as vindictive. “Thank you,” he said. “I will go to the infirmary now.”

“Comm us if you need backup,” said Professor O’Brien. Garak nodded despite not having any intentions of doing so.

He found the infirmary empty except for a duty nurse and, of course, Julian working in his office. From what Garak could see, his _anbaras_ looked much the worse for wear. He ought to have realized the problem sooner, though this business of Julian punishing himself was not something he would have guessed. He hadn’t made a study of human psychology.

It would be his preference for this not to involve a great many tears. Cardassians lacked the ability to cry, putting Garak at a grave disadvantage when dealing with the phenomenon. What was one supposed to do with a crying lover? The whole business was ridiculous. An involuntary reaction to emotional stress such as tears constituted a very serious weakness, and Garak was glad his own species had escaped this common affliction.

Well, he could try the Cardassian method, which would probably do Julian considerable good.

“Can I help you?” asked the duty nurse, a human man Garak did not recognize.

“No. I’m here for Dr. Bashir.”

“He left instructions that he’s not to be disturbed for anything other than a medical emergency.”

“I’m sure he did,” said Garak, and headed directly for Julian’s office.

“You can’t just barge in. I’ll call Security.”

“Do what you must. In the interest of giving a complete report, make sure to inform the constable I intend to assist the doctor with _sropa’kkadu_ ,” said Garak, and leaving the perplexed nurse behind, he let himself into Julian’s office.

“Simulation result: complete organ failure in seventeen minutes,” announced the computer.

Without even looking up, Julian snapped, “I’m busy.”

“Indeed. Busy working yourself to collapse, it appears.”

Julian glanced up long enough to glare before he went back to his computer. “Computer, run simulation with patient in therapeutic field delta-four and eighteen cc’s of exathiadrine.”

Garak was not familiar with medicine, but this seemed to him as though Julian might be working his way through every combination of treatments in the Federation, no matter how unlikely to succeed. The research wasn’t going well, then.

In retrospect, perhaps he should have asked Professor O’Brien for suggestions.

“Simulation result: complete organ failure in sixteen minutes.”

Garak placed a hand on Julian’s shoulder, only to have his _anabaras_ spin around and fling the offending touch away with more strength than he usually showed. Oh, dear. If he was getting careless about concealing his enhancements, the situation was even worse than Garak had thought.

“You cannot bring Jadzia Dax back,” he said.

“You don’t think I know that? This is about the people it might not be too late to save.”

Professor O’Brien did not think so, and Garak was inclined to agree with her. “This will not do. You cannot work yourself to exhaustion.”

“I’m fine.”

He was emphatically not fine. “I beg to differ.”

“Differ all you like, as long as it’s not here.”

Garak sighed. “Computer, enable audio privacy.”

“Audio privacy enabled.”

“That’s for confidential medical discussions only,” said Julian.

“Who says this isn’t? You threw off my hand too easily and quickly.”

“Which wouldn’t have been a problem if you left me alone like I asked.”

“No, don’t blame this on me. You’re the one punishing yourself for not doing the impossible, at the expense of your own health.” By now, Garak had reached the inevitable conclusion that Professor O’Brien was correct on the point.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not punishing myself for anything. I’m trying to save lives so other people won’t have to die the way Jadzia did!”

“The two are not mutually exclusive.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Julian’s voice dropped, the quiet way it did when he was very angry and trying to rein in his temper. Garak suspected he needed to lose his temper, quite badly in fact.

Fortunately, provoking such a display was well within Garak’s abilities. “I’d never thought of Dax as cruel.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re working yourself to death in tribute. If you think that’s what she would’ve wanted, you knew her better than I.”

Julian slammed down a PADD and stood up. “How dare you?”

“Dare I what?”

“You come into my infirmary, storm into my office, and start saying these terrible things about one of my best friends before the dirt has even settled on her grave.”

Ah, so the burial on Trill had proceeded despite the war. Worf hadn’t cared about his wife’s body, as was the Klingon way, and was not handling Dax’s death any better than Julian. Worse, if such a thing was possible. Thus, with Sisko gone, the responsibility of seeing the late commander’s remains transported to Trill had fallen to Julian. The task had not helped his state of mind.

Garak thought Julian was quite ready to rage now. The offer was not generally repeated except in the cases of young children, but Julian was not Cardassian. Allowances had to be made. “ _Sropa’kkadu mes_ , Julian.”

This time, he did.

* * *

 

Odo wasn’t overly concerned when Nurse Carrington reported Garak barging into Dr. Bashir’s office, uninvited and unwelcomed. If Bashir didn’t want Garak showing up on his own whims, then he wouldn’t have started a relationship with him in the first place, and if the Cardassian’s presence bothered Bashir that much, he’d comm Odo himself.

Still, it never hurt to check. This went triple for any situation involving Garak, so Odo went personally.

“The audio privacy is on,” said Carrington, as though it was a damning bit of evidence. When dealing with Garak, secrecy was ordinary.

Bashir paced around his office, speaking at such volume that Odo could hear his voice, if not the exact words, over the audio privacy. Garak, on the other hand, remained composed and, most unusually, silent.

“Did either of them say anything else?” Odo asked.

“Garak mentioned a word that didn’t translate well. The UT said something about rage, but it sounded like sarop-kadoo.”

That certainly fit the scene. “ _Sropa’kkadu_?”

“Yes, that.”

Odo nodded. “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

“There isn’t? Garak stormed in and made Dr. Bashir angry. Just look at them!”

It was at this point Chief O’Brien entered the infirmary, took in the scene, and said, “I guess that’s a no to darts, then.” He watched for a moment. “What did Garak do?”

“You’re both assuming Garak has angered the doctor,” said Odo. “I understand the impulse to expect trouble from him, but in this case he’s helping Bashir mourn Dax.”

“That doesn’t look like comforting the bereaved,” said Carrington.

Odo stated the obvious. “It is to Cardassians. At least in cases of sudden death.”

At one particularly loud phrase which did not translate but could be heard over the privacy shield, O’Brien’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know Julian could swear like a sailor.”

Carrington, now looking very uncomfortable, muttered, “I’ll just be, er, over on the other side of the infirmary. Maybe playing some music.”

A _sropa’kkadu_ was intended to be private. Odo therefore approved of the nurse’s idea and made his own exit, followed by O’Brien.

“What is that?” asked the chief.

“ _Sropa’kkadu_.”

“The raging?” O’Brien looked dubious, but then shrugged. “I hope it helps. God knows Julian can’t keep going on like this.”

Nerys’s grief involved a significant amount of anger as well, and it seemed to be cathartic for her. Odo wondered if it was a common characteristic among solids. In any case, he decided this call didn’t even merit a writeup, and mentally wished Garak success in his endeavors. As Odo had recently learned, supporting someone through the loss of a close friend was no easy task.

* * *

 

Julian hardly even remembered getting to his quarters. He’d ranted and yelled in his office until he was ready to collapse, when Garak somehow got him home.

“Thank you,” he said.

Garak nodded and went to the replicator for decaffeinated tea.

It hadn’t occurred to Julian that he might be punishing himself for not saving Jadzia, and the suggestion wasn’t without some merit. Not that he’d intended to, of course. It was just so painful to see her die and know she was completely beyond his ability to heal, and he wanted to turn that into a discovery which meant no one else would suffer the same fate.

He wanted something to come from the tragedy. It wasn’t news that he couldn’t save everyone. But this was Jadzia, and he missed her terribly, so much that he couldn’t bear to think she’d died for _nothing._ For being in the wrong place at the wrong time when Dukat let loose some Bajoran demons.

Because Julian had been successful and she was thankful she should be able to conceive a child.

It wasn’t his fault. Not the ovarian resequencing, not her death. He knew that. He just… didn’t always feel it, because losing Jadzia hurt too badly.

“I miss her,” he said, the words not beginning to encompass how strongly he felt.

“I know.”

He loved her. Not romantically, as Worf did; his infatuation with Jadzia had grown into something deep and meaningful in a completely platonic sense. She had been one of the three people closest to him in the universe, and he kept thinking of new things he wanted to tell her only to remember he’d never be able to speak with her again.

It was too much to ask of any doctor to have a beloved friend as a patient beyond hope. Under strict interpretations of medical guidelines, he ought to have called Dr. Girani, but he would never have done so. Girani was a good doctor, but joined Trill were a different kind of patient, and Julian was the one who had read extensively on the subject, all the studies and texts ready for instant recall in his enhanced brain.

Girani couldn’t have saved the Dax symbiont. Julian could, and he knew it was the last thing he’d ever be able to do for Jadzia, so no Starfleet Medical recommendation was going to stop him.

He accepted the tea. Garak looked uncomfortable, in the way he did when he had to face something where he had no idea what was expected of him. Julian realized how far out of his comfort zone Garak was going for his benefit and was overcome with a rush of affection for the man.

“It’s good you had the audio privacy on. I’m fairly certain some of the things I said would be viewed by Bajorans as sacrilegious.” In addition to some choice curses he’d never before uttered, he’d used the phrases ‘useless pretenders’ and ‘heartless bastards who only care about Bajor’ to describe the wormhole aliens who let Jadzia die in their temple. It wouldn’t have gone over well with the station’s Bajoran population, and most of his medical staff was Bajoran, so awkwardness would’ve abounded if not for Garak’s foresight.  

“Extremely,” said Garak.

Julian was tired. The late night research had caught up with him, and while he still wanted to find a treatment for the energy which killed Jadzia, he could admit now he’d been overdoing it. She wouldn’t have wanted this for him, and he had an obligation to take care of himself so he could properly treat his patients.

His anger had drained away for the moment, leaving him tired and so very, very sad. He was ready to collapse into bed, and if he desperately wanted to wake up and discover this was all a mere nightmare, nobody would blame him for that.

There was something else which needed to be said, though. He couldn’t just come out and say, “By the way, Elim, since this has driven home that we might die at any moment, I want you to know I love you.” It would just make Garak uncomfortable, at which point he’d withdraw.

No, he would have to make do with an oblique reference. Garak thrived on those anyway. “I am a fortunate man, to have one such as you stand beside me,” he said, quoting a close relationship of ambiguous nature from _The Never Ending Sacrifice_. He was reasonably sure Garak hadn’t lied when he claimed it was his favorite book.

It worked. Garak gave him the soft smile which Julian knew to reflect genuine pleasure. “No more fortunate than I,” he replied, another quote, and then suggested, “Perhaps you might appreciate _The Never Ending Sacrifice_ more in the original Cardassi. Your reading comprehension is more than sufficient.”

Julian wasn’t sure anything would make him appreciate that book, but he was willing to try the first generation and see how it went. Not immediately, though. He was due for sleep.

In his dreams, he and Jadzia were cliff-soaring, and she kept going higher and higher until she disappeared and he knew he’d never see her again. When he crashed to the ground, Garak helped him stand again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a real labor of love, so comments are extra appreciated. =)


	6. In Memoriam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place just before "Shadows and Symbols." Let's recognize just how dangerous some of these Season 7 missions were, shall we?

If Garak hadn’t heard the plan from Julian’s mouth, he wouldn’t have believed it. Yes, destroying the Monac shipyard would be unquestionably good for the war, but this defied all logic and was more than a bit suicidal. The latter aspect he could understand from Klingons, but not Julian.

And here he’d thought Julian had given up his self-destructive reactions to Dax’s death weeks ago.

“You do realize this is a foolhardy mission,” he said.

Julian was unmoved. “We can do it.”

“An entire fleet could not.” Which he should not have needed to point out.  

“We don’t have to win a battle. We just need to destroy the shipyard.”

“It’s a suicide mission.”

“Since when are you against those?”

“Since this one has little chance of success, which means you are simply wasting your lives.”

How was it that a man who could calculate statistical probabilities so easily – half the time without even wanting to, if he was to be believed – failed to see this was a fool’s errand? Giving one’s life in the service of a war was good and proper; dying because one refused to consider reality was something else altogether.

“Imagine what it will do for the war effort, and by extension Cardassia, when we do succeed. Just think of it as for the good of the state, Elim. Mine and yours.”

The rare utterance of his first name indicated that whatever he said, Julian was not certain he would return. Garak attempted to press the concession. “Do you really think Dax would have wanted you all to risk your lives against such odds?”

“Rituals surrounding death are for the survivors.”

“Surely you can find a human or Trill ritual with less chance of fatality.”

“I’m going,” said Julian, and his tone of voice made it clear he was not open to reconsidering. “For Jadzia, and for all of us who might have a chance if we destroy that shipyard.”

Garak had always been good at knowing when to accept his losses, even those which might be among the bitterest, which Julian’s death would certainly be. “In that case, I wish you success.”

“Thank you.”

“And don’t let Worf turn it into a glorious suicide mission if you can help it. I loathed _The Brothers Karamozov_ , and I will be most unhappy if I was forced to read it with no chance to air my grievances.”

Julian nodded. “I’ll do my best. If by chance we don’t come back…”

“Yes?”

“Please send Kukalaka to my mother.”

Of all the final requests to make. Well, Julian was a sentimental soul, so Garak could hardly expect anything else. “Very well, Julian. In the event of your entirely preventable demise, I will accept the indignity of securing transport for a facsimile of a Terran bear. It’s preferable to running off on a foolhardy mission to destroy a shipyard, at least.”

* * *

 

Late in the evening, when Julian was off on the quest to secure Dax’s entrance to Sto’Vo’Kor (had she even believed in the place, Garak wondered; it seemed unlike the science officer, but she had been a woman with many facets and not a few contradictions), Garak found himself unable to sleep. He opted for a walk around the habitat ring. He hadn’t planned to, but he paused when he got to Julian’s quarters, and after confirming no one was around to see, he let himself in.

Over the years, he’d spent a considerable amount of time in these quarters. So much that Julian had programmed environmental setting beta to their compromise temperature and humidity, and now the room seemed unusually cold.

“Computer, lights to twenty percent,” he said. If he was going to indulge in mawkishness, he might as well be able to see. Not at full Cardassian daylight – he wanted the contemplative atmosphere of partial dark – but enough that he could take in the details which made these rooms uniquely Julian’s.

He made his way to the bedroom and looked at Kukalaka. Julian’s retention of this very worn toy was pure human sentiment, and on the surface, quite ridiculous. Garak had never gotten a satisfactory explanation for his _anbaras_ ’s attachment to the bear, which did not resemble any pictures of Terran bears Garak had seen.

“He was my first patient,” Julian told him once, in the early days of their sexual relationship, and Garak asked if all doctors were in the habit of toting their first patients to duty assignments, which would be a challenge if they hadn’t had the foresight to begin practicing medicine on an inanimate object.

“Sometimes we humans like a reminder of our childhood innocence,” Julian said, and it was two years later before Garak understood this was a reference to the boy he’d been before his parents took him to Adigeon Prime.

Kukalaka was perched on a piece of paper. This was not usual, so Garak made a careful assessment of the toy’s precise placement, then lifted it.

Written on the paper, in Cardassi obviously penned by an uncertain hand, was _Elim (in the event of my death)_. Clever of Julian. Paper messages couldn’t be hacked, and while there was a risk of it falling into the wrong hands, it was minimal in this case, and worth the privacy.

If they both managed to survive the war, Garak expected his time with Julian Bashir would come to an end. Should they be among the victors, he would return to Cardassia in one capacity or another – the details were too dependent on circumstance to predict with any accuracy – and Julian would remain on the station until Starfleet eventually promoted him away. He would probably end up heading Starfleet Medical in a decade or two. Certainly his career would be impressive, in any event. Garak might check on its progression from time to time, if whatever duties he took up on Cardassia allowed.

And if the Federation-Klingon-Romulan alliance lost, Dukat would order Garak’s death, whereupon he would be forced to flee alone for any hope of survival, and to give Julian a chance at living as well.

Garak was pragmatic enough that, even as he’d grown to care for Julian more than he’d ever planned, he had always known their relationship was temporary. He would not remain in Bajoran or Federation space if given any opportunity to return to Cardassia, and Julian would never give up his beloved Federation for xenophobic Cardassia. Nor should he. This was simply who they were, and their parting was therefore imminent from the beginning, _malon anbar_ notwithstanding.

Still, he would prefer to know that Julian was happy in his Federation, moving up the ranks of Starfleet Medical and curing heretofore vexing ailments as befitted his abilities, not dead on an absurd Klingon fool’s errand.

Garak looked at the paper for a moment before replacing Kukalaka and walking away. As the human saying went, where there was life, there was hope. Garak did not subscribe to the theory, but this time he found himself wanting to believe it.

He ordered the computer to turn off the lights and left, hoping to return once more in Julian’s company. He would not read the words, because Julian was not dead yet.


	7. Solidarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a last-minute addition, courtesy of realizing I couldn't ignore Ezri's introduction. Takes place instead of "Afterimage." Fun fact: the previous snapshot was originally supposed to be the last. Hah.

“Quark to Infirmary.”

That was unusual. Quark had hypochondriac tendencies, but he generally came to the infirmary in person. “Bashir. Go ahead.”

“You’d better come to holosuite 2, Doctor. Garak isn’t coming out and he’s not answering me. I think he’s hurt.”

Julian grabbed his medkit and was almost out the door before Quark had finished talking. “On my way.”

Quark met him at the bar entrance. “He didn’t leave the holosuite after his booking ended, even though the program shut down.”

“What else?”

“He turned off the safeties.”

Julian sprinted the rest of the way to holosuite 2.

He found Garak lying on his side, unconscious and bleeding steadily from his thigh, but breathing with a pulse. “Bashir to Ops. Medical emergency. Two to transport to the infirmary. Energize.”

In the infirmary he determined it could’ve been a lot worse. Garak had been knocked out by a blow to the head, which took considerable force on a Cardassian skull, but there was no permanent damage done. The thigh wound was more problematic, in that if left unattended it would’ve led to serious blood loss. Possibly fatal blood loss, if Quark hadn’t been quick or it had happened earlier in his holosuite session.

Garak was going to get a piece of Julian’s mind for this.

First, he dealt with the thigh. Garak had been stabbed and an artery nicked in the process, leading to enough lost blood that a synthesized transfusion was called for. Fortunately, Julian had programmed the computer for Cardassian blood years ago. It was a clean wound, and not difficult to heal. Garak would have to take it easy for a day or so, but he’d be good as new in thirty-eight hours at the latest.

That done, Julian injected a generous dose of analgesic for the headache and let Garak return to consciousness naturally, the best option for minor cranial trauma in Cardassians. He watched vitals and wondered what had gotten into his lover now.

It wasn’t long before Garak came around. “Doctor. What a pleasant surprise.”

Julian put a hand on Garak’s chest to keep him from sitting up. “Lie down. Your body is recovering from blood loss.”

Garak looked down at his leg. “How unfortunate. These trousers are completely ruined.”

“You and I are going to have a talk about holosuite safeties and why you felt the need to disable them. Unless, of course, you’d prefer an appointment with Ezri.”

He’d asked Starfleet to send another counselor for a year. Telnorri had been killed in Operation Return, and DS9 was theoretically high on Starfleet Medical’s list but for some reason beyond Julian’s comprehension failed to receive a counselor. Ezri’s decision to stay was good news although – nothing personal - he would’ve preferred someone who had completed training.

“I will not speak with her,” said Garak icily, brushing off Julian’s hand on the way to standing.

“Then you’re stuck with me.”

“No, I’m not. I am checking myself out.”

“You aren’t in any condition to return to work if you’re intent on harming yourself.”

“I am not in Starfleet. You have no medical authority over me.”

“You’re working for Starfleet.”

“Please, Doctor. Do you really think they’re going to force me to stop the decoding I alone can manage because you’re worried about me? Don’t be naïve.” And with that, he swept out the door.

“Has he ever stayed until you released him?” asked Jabara.

“Not once.”

* * *

 

Since Garak spent the next two days studiously ignoring him, Julian took other measures. He got Odo to monitor the holosuites for any attempt by Garak to disable the safeties and talked Quark into telling him what program Garak had been running when injured. (This took the form of ordering multiple very expensive drinks.) Then, out of ideas and badly in need of a sounding board, he sought out Ezri.

He and Ezri were fast becoming friends. Unlike Quark, Julian didn’t expect his relationship with Ezri to be the same as what he’d shared with Jadzia. In some ways it was reversed, because now Ezri was the uncertain one who knew she didn’t quite fit and wanted so badly to be liked for who she was. Just as soon as she figured out who she was with the addition of eight lifetimes for which she’d never asked nor prepared.  

Julian did like her, identity issues notwithstanding, so it was perfectly natural to seek her out for friendly professional advice.

“I can’t give you counseling suggestions based on memories of Garak,” she said when Julian explained the situation – poorly, if that was what she thought he was after.

“I’m not asking you to.”

They were still sorting some things out in how they approached each other. Technically, Ezri reported to him, but Starfleet Medical’s general policy was to give counselors wide latitude to work as they saw fit. In many ways, that part was easier than figuring out how much to let Jadzia influence their friendship. Julian couldn’t blame Worf for preferring to keep his distance (though he did for the brief spate of cruelty).

“I just don’t know what to do,” he said, and sat on the couch in Ezri’s office. “He was running a training program without safeties, fighting off multiple attackers simultaneously.”

“Your guess is better than mine. I can’t help in my official capacity, but I’m happy to listen as a friend.”

“Thank you. He’s the stubbornest person I’ve ever met.”

“That’s why he frustrates you. Not many people can out-stubborn you.”

Professional advice based on Jadzia’s memories may have been out, but relationship insights were clearly not. Another step in defining their interactions.

“He’s intensely private and lashes out rather than accept help,” Julian said. “If the problem is physical, I can eventually force him to accept my assistance, but this is different.”

“Do you know how Cardassians handle these types of situations?”

“It hasn’t come up. Probably by design on Garak’s part.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but is it possible you were so worried about him that you came on too strong?”

Julian was not ignorant of the fact that with him, coming on too strongly was nearly always a possibility. “Yes. Er, am I doing that with you?” The last thing he wanted to do was smother her with friendship.

“Oh, no. These relationships don’t always carry over, but I think you and I will be good friends, just in a different way. You and Ben are the only ones who get the balance.”

It was reassuring to be in the captain’s company. “Good.”

“You know Garak better than anyone,” she said. “Whatever he needs to prove or is punishing himself for, I doubt he’ll talk to me.”

Julian leapt off the couch. “That’s it!”

“What did I say?”

“Thank you!” he called on his way out the door. “You’ve been very helpful.”

Punishing himself. That was the key. Garak’s dangerous holosuite session happened the very day word reached DS9 about a decisive Federation-Romulan victory in the Kalandra system. The last time he was especially snappish, Julian now realized, was after a large Cardassian fleet was decimated.

Julian had been an idiot not to see the connection sooner. And because he hadn’t seen what was going on, he’d reacted in precisely the worst way.

He hurried to Garak’s quarters. “Garak, it’s me.” No response. “Open the door, please.” Still nothing. “ _Aventzx’u_.” He was butchering the pronunciation, he knew, but Garak would know what he meant regardless. The word conveyed a combination of understanding, sympathy, and fearlessness in the face of another’s wrath, and Julian was reasonably sure he was using it correctly.

The door opened to reveal Garak sitting in near-total darkness. “There is nothing you can do.”

“I know,” said Julian, and when Garak instructed the computer to reduce the temperature, he felt welcome enough to join his lover on the couch. “I can tell you that you’re doing the right thing, but it doesn’t really matter. You know you are, or you wouldn’t be working with Starfleet in the first place.”

Garak was helping send thousands of his people to their deaths. It was in the service of Cardassia, of course, but that didn’t mean it was easy. Not even for a man who prided himself on removing sentiment from consideration.

“I’m sorry for how I reacted the other day,” Julian said. “I was worried about you.”

Garak said nothing for long moments. When he spoke, his voice was unusually strained. “Three hundred and ninety-four. That’s the average crew compliment of a Galor-class warship.”

The battle at Kalandra had seen twenty-six Galor-class warships completely destroyed: ten thousand, two hundred and forty-four Cardassians dead. And Garak had given Starfleet intelligence which secured the allied victory.

Julian put a hand on Garak’s knee, which was as much comfort as he expected he could get away with offering. “I hate war.”

“A fraction of the lives to be lost if Cardassia remains in the Dominion, to say nothing of our culture and sovereignty. Dukat has much to answer for.”

“Yes, he does. I for one would rather you’re around to see him held accountable, rather than bleeding to death in a holosuite.”

“It wasn’t serious,” said Garak.

“It really was. If you’d received that injury earlier in the session, you could well have bled out before anyone knew something was wrong.”

This was truly news to him, or at least, Julian thought that to be the case. “I see. Perhaps I was slightly overzealous.”

Julian couldn’t fix this. He did not like situations he couldn’t fix, but this wasn’t about him, so he pushed aside the helplessness and focused on showing Garak he didn’t have to bear his burden alone. Moving closer, he gave Garak’s knee a squeeze. “I’d rather you kept the holosuite safeties on. But if you have to turn them off, do it when I’m there in observer mode.”

“Is this a plot to make me decide safeties are the better option?”

“No, but if it works as one, I’m not about to complain.”

Garak raised his eyeridges slightly. “I don’t have a death wish, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Julian wasn’t. Quite simply, if Garak had a death wish, he’d be dead already. Ezri’s suggestion of self-punishment was far more likely. “I’m glad to hear it. That means I shouldn’t get any more calls from Quark about you injured in a holosuite.”

“No,” said Garak. “I would prefer living to see Dukat’s utter disgrace and punishment.”

“And, while I realize the odds of you taking me up on the offer are extremely low, I’m here if you want to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“I figured. Should I go?”

Garak considered for a moment. “If you aren’t offended by poor company, I read about a new chess strategy I’d like to try.”

Whether or not the last part was true didn’t matter. Julian got up to retrieve the board he’d given Garak some months earlier, when he’d realized his lover would make an excellent opponent. (The same, according to Garak, could not be said of Julian’s kotra game. Julian was determined to win one of these days.)

If he couldn’t fix the problem, at least Garak was allowing him to be there. For Garak, that was no small gesture of trust.                                    

* * *

 

Julian resisted all his instinctive attempts to cheer Garak up, which was more difficult than he’d imagined. Instead, he focused on simply showing Garak he wasn’t alone. It seemed to help some, and by the third evening of this, Garak’s mood had improved slightly. Enough that his lengthy explanation of Julian’s kotra errors had real, if still muted, enthusiasm.

“You told me I needed to play boldly,” said Julian.

“That maneuver was not bold, it was reckless.”

“The difference often comes down to whether or not a given gamble pays off.”

Garak shook his head, playing up his disapproval for all it was worth. “You should never gamble that I will fail to see an obvious feint.”

“I was hoping it was so obvious you’d assume I couldn’t be serious and turn your attention elsewhere.”

“My attention is always on the entire board.”

Julian’s door chimed, which was fine because he didn’t have a good comeback ready. “Come in.”

“I figured it out!” exclaimed Ezri. “It’s Dax.” Before she could explain further, she saw Garak. “Oh. This is a bad time, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” said Garak. “I have just soundly won at kotra. Again.”

Julian gave him an unamused glare before turning his attention to Ezri. “What did you figure out?”

“We don’t tend to think of symbionts having much by way of their own personalities or emotions. Or maybe they do but just don’t share? I hadn’t thought about that until just now. It’s more the exception than the rule, anyway, like the hosts of Varl all being gardeners of some type. But that’s what’s happening. I couldn’t explain it. It didn’t make any sense why I feel so much gratitude towards you. Julian, it’s Dax. Not me or Jadzia or anyone else. You saved Dax’s life, and Dax is so thankful.”

Moved, Julian could only say, “Dax is very welcome.”

“And I didn’t have to stand on my head to figure it out.” Julian wasn’t quite sure where that came in, not an unusual situation with Ezri. She went on, “Oh Garak, I wanted to tell you… sorry, I forget to introduce myself sometimes.”

“I don’t believe that’s necessary.”

“Right. I wanted to tell you I take the secret of your private universe as seriously as Jadzia did. Because she did.”

“I appreciate your discretion,” said Garak, his voice only a shade warmer than neutral. He wasn’t convinced he had nothing to worry about, as he had been (eventually) with Jadzia, but Ezri didn’t realize.

“I should go. Ben’s making jambalaya and I want to see if I like it as much as I used to. Curzon and Jadzia used to. You know what I mean. I just had to thank you, Julian. Goodnight!”

As the door closed behind her, Garak said, “She’s supposed to help people solve their problems? Starfleet is getting desperate.”

“She’s better in her professional capacity.” It was a remarkable difference, actually. In her office she was almost a different person, like she set aside all her own struggles to help others. If Julian hadn’t seen it himself, he wasn’t sure he’d have believed it.

“I cannot believe I have a secret kept by a girl who babbles.”

“I’ve been known to babble,” pointed out Julian, which was perhaps not the best defense he could’ve offered. “It hasn’t stopped me keeping secrets. Regardless, you don’t have a choice in the matter, so you’re just going to have to trust her.”

“No. I have to accept there is nothing I can do. Trust is not involved.”

On the plus side, having something more usual to worry about was helping Garak’s mood. Julian decided to go with the time-honored tradition of taking what he could get.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Besides "Afterimage" not working with the G/B dynamic I've established in the series, I don't like how it handles panic attacks. I get panic attacks, and they don't just go away like magic once you get to the root of them (presuming there even is a single root cause, which is not always the case). Garak having them would've needed to be a recurring theme in the season, among my other quibbles. So I jettisoned the idea altogether, gave Ezri a bit more professional competence, and made interacting with the new Dax a little more complicated.


	8. Ashes to Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and forth about including this snapshot, as it's not strictly necessary for the arc of Julian and Garak's relationship. But I like it and think it's a good insight into Kira, which comes into play later, so here it is. Oh, fair warning: I was getting teary writing this one.

Julian showed up in Garak’s quarters with his hands behind his back. “I have something,” he said, “and I would like to preface the presentation by saying that I have only the best intentions, so if I’ve accidentally ignored some custom of which I am ignorant and am therefore about to do something offensive, please forgive me.”

This had Garak quite curious.

“Before I left on the _Rotarran_ , I mentioned that rituals are for survivors. That got me thinking.” Finally, he held out his hands and revealed a pile of large dried leaves. “I ordered a plant from Rakantha Province. Where Ziyal was born.”

“And killed it?” asked Garak, already considering the best way to complete the _lorhi-tal_.

“No. I took off these leaves and gave it to Keiko for safekeeping. You can mix the ashes into the pot and she’ll send it to a friend on Bajor to plant. Or,” he paused, looking for some reassurance which Garak conveyed with his eyes, “I could request a runabout and we could go ourselves.”

What an exceptionally generous and well-considered offer. Garak was moved by the pains Julian had taken for him, and eagerly reached for the leaves. Yes, they would work for the _lorhi-tal_. A touch narrow, but he could glue two of them together.

“You won’t even have to break into my quarters this time,” said Julian. “If you want to go, that is.”

Ah, he was very nervous about this. “Thank you,” said Garak, meaning it sincerely. “I would like to go to Bajor.” Usually the ashes were mixed in Cardassian soil – a Union world at the very least – but Ziyal was half-Bajoran, so Bajor would do.

Which begged the question of whether a third person should be invited. Garak wouldn’t have for his own sake, of course, nor even to be diplomatic, but he thought Ziyal would have appreciated it. Therefore, he said, “It would be appropriate for Colonel Kira to attend.”

“By all means ask her,” said Julian.

Thus Garak found himself outside Kira’s quarters that evening. He would have preferred to speak with her in a more public setting, but the _lorhi-tal_ was a private matter, and furthermore, Kira had gone to his quarters to invite him to Ziyal’s memorial in the station temple. He would not place himself in the position of appearing the more intimidated party.

“Come in,” she called in response to the door chime.

“Good evening, Colonel.”

“Garak.” Her voice clearly questioned why he was there.

“The day after tomorrow will be one Cardassian year since Ziyal’s death,” he said. “Dr. Bashir has kindly offered to facilitate the completion of a traditional ritual, the _lorhi-tal_. If you care to participate, I believe Ziyal would have liked that very much.”

“And what, exactly, would I be participating in?”

A reasonable question. “First we will write messages on leaves grown in her home province. There are mourning poems from which one can quote, but no one else will read the message, so write whatever you wish. Then we burn the leaves and mix the ashes into the soil.”

“If I ask what it all means, would you tell me the truth?”

Garak would not dishonor Ziyal’s memory by lying about this matter, but he did not care to expound in detail on Cardassian philosophy, or his own, as it related to death. He weighed how much he was willing to share. “It means one has no further opportunities to speak to the dead. Ziyal is turning to dust and we have not yet joined her.”

Kira looked vaguely scandalized. Bajoran memorial customs were quite a bit different, so he wasn’t surprised. “That’s not remotely comforting.”

“It’s not supposed to be comforting. It is intended as finality.” When she said nothing, he offered a further detail. “The ritual is for family and close friends.” He did not mention that it had fallen out of fashion in certain circles as being excessively self-indulgent. Garak had indulged in very little in his life, so he would not begrudge himself this.

Kira nodded. “You’re right. She’d have liked it, so I’ll be there.”

“Dr. Bashir has scheduled a runabout to leave at 1600 station time.”

“I wondered what that was for.”

“I will see you the day after tomorrow,” he said, and despite the potential for awkwardness, he felt confident inviting Kira was the right choice. Ziyal would have been happy about it.

* * *

 

When Kira got to the runabout, Garak was there alone. “Let me guess: Bashir can’t make it.”

“He’s busy with the survivors of the _Ares_ ,” said Garak, and from the looks of that ship when it docked, Kira imagined Bashir had his work cut out for him.

According to Sisko, it was a bad sign when Starfleet started naming ships after old gods of war.

“He said we should go without him,” Garak added.

That wasn’t unreasonable, as Bashir had been friendly enough with Ziyal but not close. Kira was pretty sure the doctor had arranged all of this for Garak’s benefit.

She was also pretty sure Bashir and Garak were lovers, but she’d never asked. If Jadzia hadn’t spilled, she either didn’t know or, more likely, it had been one of the rare secrets you’d never pry out of her. (Jadzia – another vibrant woman gone too soon, another ache in Kira’s soul which was still healing.) Kira didn’t want to leverage her relationship with Odo to satisfy her personal curiosity, so she hadn’t asked him either. It was none of her business, anyway.  

The thought had occurred to her, though, that if Ziyal and Bashir both saw something redeeming in Garak, maybe it was actually there. It wasn’t something she’d ever have considered before.

She still couldn’t imagine how Bashir could be friends with Garak, never mind anything more.  But there were people who couldn’t imagine how she could be with Odo, those that only saw a Changeling who cooperated too well with the Dominion during the station’s stint under Weyoun and Dukat. You didn’t have to be a philosopher to see the parallels, so she kept her opinion on Bashir’s choice of lover to herself.

Not that disapproval ever stopped Bashir in the first place.

She piloted the _Rubicon_ to Bajor, on Bashir’s flight plan which brought them to a lake in the middle of a park. Garak was unusually silent for the first part of the trip, which was fine by Kira. It saved her the trouble of trying to separate the truth from his lies.

Eventually, she decided she’d better know if there was anything else expected of her. “This _lorhi-tal_. What else do I need to know?” It was for Ziyal, so she wanted to get it right.

“It does not have rigid rules,” said Garak. “The _lorhi-tal_ is one of our more ancient rituals, and over time numerous variations have arisen. There is really no wrong way to perform it, as long as one has leaves from the deceased’s home region and the ashes are mixed into the soil thoroughly.”

“Alright.”

“And, of course, the messages are quite private.”

“Of course,” said Kira. It was a Cardassian ritual; she’d expect nothing less. “You won’t be trying to steal glances at what I’m writing, then?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did. I don’t read Dahkuric Bajoran. But no, I will not.”

Maybe he did read it, maybe he didn’t. Kira wouldn’t be able to understand whatever he wrote, not that she expected he’d give her any opportunity. Her Cardassian reading comprehension was limited to a few dozen words, and none of them likely to show up in any kind of memorial activity.

She didn’t ask how he knew she was from Dahkur. He’d read a file on her at some point, no doubt.

It was morning in Rakantha province, early enough that the sun was just rising and nobody was in the park yet. Bashir had secured permission to land ahead of time, and Kira found plenty of space. No one was around, for which she was grateful. It was a cool morning, and she imagined Garak had to be very cold, but he didn’t complain, just left the runabout with a small bag in his hands.

Kira followed him out and sat beside him on the ground. She wondered what Tekeny would’ve made of this. “Don’t trust him, Nerys, ever. He’s a dangerous man,” Tekeny had said, and he was right about that much. But Kira could be a dangerous woman, and she wasn’t afraid of Garak. She still didn’t trust him, but she wasn’t afraid of him either.

He handed her a pen and two glued-together vaarean leaves. “Take your time, Colonel.”

She nodded and looked at the leaves for a minute, thinking of Ziyal, unsure what to say. Words weren’t Kira’s strong suit. Eventually, she decided to write out part of a prayer for the departed in her neatest handwriting. It filled the leaves on one side and half of the other. On impulse, she wrote two more messages at the bottom: _Thank you_ and _I’m sorry_. She blinked back a few tears, then set down the pen. “I’m finished.”

Garak was still hard at work on his own writing. “I’m nearly done.”

Ziyal would’ve liked this, Kira thought. Her and Garak together for Ziyal’s sake. They should’ve done it when she was alive.

“There,” said Garak. “Now we burn them. If you wish to say anything while they burn, that is commonly done.”

He handed her a match. Evidently this ritual called for minimal technology. Either that, or the replicators classed flame lighters as too dangerous without special authorization. They struck their matches and held the leaves close.

As his message caught fire, Garak muttered something so quietly the translator didn’t pick it up. Kira waited until hers was almost gone to whisper, “Prophets be thanked for the gift of your life, Tora Ziyal.”

Her words burned until they were a pile of ashes. Garak produced trowels from his bag and started to mix the remains of his message into the dirt. Kira copied his actions.

“It is done,” he announced, and without further ceremony stood up and walked back to the runabout. He missed Ziyal, Kira realized. More than she had thought him capable, actually.

That knowledge spurred her to recognize his role in Ziyal’s life. “Garak.”

“Yes?”

“I have some of her paintings. I can give you one, if you’d like.”

“I sincerely would,” he said, and for once, Kira believed him.

* * *

 

It was nearly 2600 hours when Julian arrived in Garak’s quarters, utterly exhausted. “I’ve been in surgery for eighteen hours,” he said. “I need food and sleep.”

Garak replicated lamb stew, one of Julian’s favorites. “ A successful surgery, I hope.”

“Surgeries, plural, and yes. We didn’t lose anyone who made it to DS9. Not that there were many of them, but I don’t want to discuss it. How was the _lorhi-tal_?”

“It went as it should. I’m sorry you couldn’t join us.”

“You’re not really, and that’s fine. I wasn’t close to Ziyal, not enough to participate if I understand the ritual correctly.”

He did, though Garak had been too polite to mention it.

“This wasn’t about me,” said Julian. “You have artwork. Was that hers?”

“Yes. Colonel Kira kindly offered it to me.”

Julian smiled. “It went very well, then.”

“Yes. It did. Thank you for your efforts, my dear. It was most thoughtful of you.” Garak had planned to burn a message, but the leaves and Bajor were Julian’s very good ideas.

Garak had not been allowed, by Tain or himself, to care for many people in his life. A childhood friend, decades ago. His mother. Tain, though that was complicated. Julian and Ziyal completed the list. Part of why Ziyal’s death pained him so much, he suspected, was because she was among an extremely select group.

Kira’s quiet words at the end of the _lorhi-tal_ were correct. Not the nonsense regarding the Prophets, but that Ziyal’s life had been a gift. That it had been an altogether too brief gift did not dilute its value.

Julian was a gift as well. They hadn’t been reading as much lately, both busy with the war. Garak’s decoding occupied a great deal of time, and when Julian didn’t have patients he was still researching ketracel-white. If they could spare the time, Garak thought, literature discussions would be a welcome diversion. Therefore, he said, “I believe it’s my turn to choose a book.”

“You’re right. May I request something with a minimum of death?”

“I’m sure I can think of one.”

Yes, it was nice, even in the middle of war, to have something to which they might look forward with pleasure.


	9. Contingency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another one where I got teary. That's become a theme with these snapshots. 
> 
> Set during "When It Rains..."

“I hope the rebellion appreciates the rich irony of Kira’s assistance,” said Julian when Garak came to his quarters. It was easier to start the conversation that way than to delve into the fact that his lover was leaving and may in short order be killed. He wondered if it had been this painful for Garak when he went on the _Rotarran_ to secure Jadzia’s place in Sto’Vo’Kor.

“You’ve heard,” said Garak.

“Yes.” Refusing to get maudlin, he asked, “Do we have time for good luck sex?”

“It we’re quick,” said Garak with a smile, and they moved to the _malon anbar_. Julian was very much aware this could be the last time they got to experience their private universe.

It was difficult, knowing the 89% probability (and damn his brain for running that calculation) Garak would die, and even more so, that provided he survived, Garak would never stay on DS9 if given the chance to return to Cardassia. Julian tried very, very hard not to think about that, to focus on the way Garak’s hands felt all over his body and the subtle shivers he evoked when he mouthed Garak’s shoulder ridges just so.

When they finished, Garak looked at him with complete, undisguised affection. “Julian, you have brought more delight to my exile than I would have thought possible.”

No, no. Julian absolutely refused to tear up, even though this was turning into the goodbye he’d hoped to avoid. And how could he possibly sum up nearly seven years in a pithy sentence?

Garak went on, “I filed the necessary documents to ensure that if I die – in the service of Cardassia, the best of all deaths, so you needn’t look glum – you will inherit my meager possessions.”

“You’d better not die. This isn’t goodbye, Elim. I expect to see you at the victory celebrations.”

“Be that as it may, there is something I wish to give you.” When they returned to their primary universe, Garak removed a datarod from his pants pocket. “The Antravian House of Teskaron owes me a life debt. I don’t know if you’re familiar with Antravian custom, but they take their life debts very seriously.”

“So I’ve heard.” He wondered how Garak had ended up being owed one, and wished they had time for an entertaining lie he might dissect for hints of truth.

Garak pressed the datarod into Julian’s hand. “They are a nonaligned world, which makes Antravia as safe a place as you could find, should you need to hide from the Dominion. Details of how to get Teskaron’s attention are on the datarod. Tell them Eliar Kisan wishes to collect his life debt, as pledged on the seventeenth day of Ma-re-lana, under the three moons, with the pledge word _sazentra_. They will provide you with the necessary assistance to remain safe. Study the information carefully before you destroy the rod.” By the time he finished the speech, he was dressed and ready to leave.

“What if you need to redeem the debt yourself? Do you have a way to get in touch with me or…” He trailed off as Garak gave him an even look which meant, ‘Put the pieces together.’ When Julian did, the answer brought a few tears to his eyes.

Garak thought his chances of survival were dismally low, for one thing, but more importantly, by sharing the life debt, he’d removed it from his own options.

If he could only save one of them, he chose Julian.

Julian threw his arms around Garak and hugged him tightly. Realizing it might be now or never, he finally said the words he’d kept to himself. “ _Nahidu sora’tur es-r_.” _You are part of me,_ in the romantic form. Cardassi for ‘I love you.’

Garak didn’t say it back, but he didn’t need to. He already made his priorities, and thus his feelings, clear when he gave Julian his life debt. Besides, Garak said a lot of things he didn’t mean. What he’d just done carried far more weight, and he didn’t withdraw from the emotionally charged situation, either. He tentatively, gently returned Julian’s hug.

“Be well, Julian.”

Hard though it was, he let go and stepped back. “Give the Dominion hell.”

“I intend to,” said Garak. He walked to the door, stopping just before the door for one last look at Julian. “ _Marent._ ” _Dear one_ , form unspecified. Except it wasn’t, because Julian had the datarod and Garak’s plan to save him should the quadrant fall.

Twenty minutes later, he’d memorized everything on the rod, which held not just the life debt details but the location and codes for four stashes of latinum, including a safe in Garak’s quarters. He stared at the rod, spinning it between his fingers, not quite ready to smash it. When his doorbell rang, he answered automatically. “Come in.”

It was Miles. “I thought we could – for God’s sake, Julian, put some clothes on before you let people into your quarters.”

“Oh. Right.” He pulled on his uniform, except the jacket. He’d forgotten all about dressing before.

“The ODN relays didn’t take as long as I expected, so I thought we could go to Quark’s for a few rounds of darts and a toast to Kira and Garak’s success. What’s that?” He asked, nodding toward the datarod.

“A gift from Garak.”

“Another book?”

“A contingency plan, actually.”

Miles cocked his head in confusion. “For what?”

“I think he expects that if the war goes badly, and I don’t die in battle, I’d be in line for execution.” Julian didn’t feel like explaining the rest, how it was goodbye and I love you expressed in secrets and codes. That was too private to share at the moment. “He doesn’t think he’s coming back.”

“It’s not a suicide mission,” protested Miles.

It may as well have been, but there was no point in depressing Miles any more. “If he lives, and we win, his exile will be over.” And Julian had always known Cardassia meant more to Garak than any person ever could. It was never supposed to matter, when they started sleeping together. “He won’t leave again. I mean a great deal to him. This,” he held up the rod, “is him putting my life above his own, but he wouldn’t be Garak if he didn’t love Cardassia more.”

“The private universe doesn’t matter?”

Julian shook his head. “Compared to Cardassia, nothing matters.”

“You’re not mad.”

“No. I didn’t go into this with romantic fantasies, believe it or not, and it’s no different on my end.”

“Oh?”

“He doesn’t expect me to resign my commission and move there, where everyone would treat me as a lesser person at best, to be with him. I’d resent him, sooner or later. Better to part on good terms accepting this is who we are.”

Perhaps that didn’t make sense to Miles, whose marriage had seen its fair share of compromises in order for he and Keiko to stay together. The two of them prioritized their relationship over all else. They, however, were both Federation through and through. Or maybe they were simply less selfish than Julian and Garak. It hardly made a difference.

“That’s an awfully mature way to look at it,” said Miles.

Bolstered by the vote of confidence, Julian dropped the rod and crushed it under his boot, answering Miles’s raised eyebrows with, “Can’t let that get into the wrong hands.”

“Uh, Julian, about execution. Do you think Keiko and the kids should go back to Earth?”

“If we lose, I don’t think they’ll be any safer on Earth.”

Miles frowned.

“I’ll do my utmost to save Molly and Yoshi, if it comes to using Garak’s contingency plan.” He’d claim they were his own children if he had to, though he had serious doubts about his ability to convince anyone. Perhaps he’d be better off calling himself their uncle.

“Thank you,” said Miles, visibly grateful though he didn’t sound much less worried. They both knew it was more likely they’d die together in battle.

“Of course.” He was sure this wouldn’t surprise Garak in the least, either. Oh, he'd disapprove, and he’d mutter something about the kids being a liability and human sentiment, but he’d see it coming light-years away.

Miles looked from the pieces of the datarod and back at Julian. “You know, on second thought, maybe we should skip darts and go right to the drinks.”

“Sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is officially over 80k words now. =O It really took on a life of its own.


	10. 'Tis Better...

In a twist of fate Julian hadn’t seen coming, Kira was now the person with whom he had the most in common.

It wasn’t just that they were the only two left from the original senior staff, or that they both threw themselves into work, acting as though they were perfectly fine when they were reeling inside, though those were both true. No, the larger bond was being left behind as the person they loved went to help serve his own people on a homeworld where he could belong as he never had on the station.

Julian was fairly certain she knew this, too, and it all became clear one evening when she found him looking out the window. Not towards the wormhole, where she could sometimes be found gazing, along with Jake and Kasidy. He opted for other side of the station, where all you could see were stars. To the left was Earth. Miles, Keiko, and the kids should’ve arrived that morning. To the right was Cardassia. He hadn’t heard from Garak yet, and wasn’t sure he ever would.

“Are you hiding from Dax, too?” asked Kira. “Because I could use an alibi.”

“I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine.”

“Deal.”

He liked Ezri. She was a good friend. His closest friend on the station now, in fact, a relationship influenced by and yet completely different from what he’d shared with Jadzia. Still, sometimes letting her see his sadness earned him more concern than he felt like handling.

The war was over. His promotion to lieutenant commander was imminent and he’d probably have his pick of any assignment he wanted to go with it. He should’ve been happy, right? Granted, his best friend was gone to do what was best for his family, and his lover had returned home, but then Julian knew, as much as anyone could, how much Garak wanted to be on Cardassia again. And he _was_ pleased for Garak, despite how fiercely he missed the man.

Julian had never been good at making deep connections with people before DS9. Now he’d formed them, and they’d been ripped away. Jadzia. Miles. Garak. He didn’t even have Sisko’s steady presence. Without those bonds, and absent the driving purpose of the war, he was adrift.

He’d find his bearings again, he knew. It would simply take time. He’d told Ezri as much, and she agreed with his overall assessment, if not his disinclination to talk about it. But she was a counselor, and counselors always wanted you to talk about your feelings. Friends joined you in the Battle of Thermopylae and then, when both parties realized they didn't enjoy sword fighting, started inviting you along to solve Trill mysteries.

Ezri was still learning how to balance both roles. Julian had always been protective of his friends, so he felt the need to explain to Kira, “Ezri’s a counselor. She can’t help it any more than I could let you walk around with a bleeding wound.”

Kira said, “Fine. When she asks, you and I had a long conversation. I talked about Odo, you talked about Garak, and we both feel much better now.”

Julian got a chuckle out of that, as well as confirmation that she did know about him and Garak, which he had considered likely. “It’s good we’ve got our story straight.”

“I know she means well.”

“But she doesn’t understand,” said Julian.

“No.”

Kira was the strongest person he ever expected to know. She would recover from losing Odo, eventually, just as she’d recovered from so many other losses in her life. Rumor had it Starfleet and the Bajoran government were in talks to make her the permanent commander of the station with a Starfleet second in command, which if asked, Julian would’ve supported wholeheartedly. She and Ezri were building a real friendship, too, now that Ezri had decided her place was on DS9 for the time being, treating myriad cases of PTSD from the war.

Julian wasn’t worried about Kira, thus freeing this conversation from his duties as CMO. “Was I ever that young?”

“Younger,” said Kira. “And more obnoxious.”

“So I’ve been told.” He mentally cringed, remembering their first meeting and his comment about frontier medicine.

“You grew on us. And you grew up.”

And now here they were, he and Kira sharing the evening and understanding each other. “You intimidated me,” he said. “For quite a long time.”

She smiled. “I know.”

They watched the stars together for a moment. Julian could point out exactly which one Cardassia Prime orbited, an unremarkable yellow dwarf like that of so many other habitable worlds. He wondered how Garak was doing, trying to help his beloved homeworld rise from the rubble. If he looked up at night and thought of Julian.

Kira saw where his gaze fell and must’ve recognized the general direction, because she said, “Would you do it all again?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“So would I,” she said.

A quote came to mind, from – what else? – a well-regarded piece of human literature Garak had disliked and called excessively sentimental. How appropriate. _‘Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all._ He hoped their relationship had brought Garak around to seeing the merit of Tennyson’s statement.

He smiled, sadly but honestly, and turned to Kira. “If you’re interested in a drink, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I am keeping an eye on Quark,” she said.

“My treat.”

“Thanks.”

As far as new chapters went, walking in friendship with Kira was a good start.

En route to the turbolift, he reflected on the significance of the Cardassi equivalent to I love you: _you are part of me_. Yes, Garak would always be part of Julian, wherever his life took him, and Julian knew he was part of Garak, too.

Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s “In Memoriam A.H.H.” 
> 
> Honestly, a small evil part of me thinks this could be a satisfying end point for the series. But fear not, I've long known how this was going to wrap up, and it's not here, so be on the look out for the dramatic conclusion to the Private Universe series. "Bittersweet Symphonies" is coming soon.
> 
> As always, comments feed the muse. ;)


End file.
